#and I sense slowburn

[fandomaddict505]

Wait theres no fucking way its this early

It has to be later in the case right???

Oh my god no way

ITS THE FIRST FUCKING THING HE SAYS TO HIM!?!?!?!? WE DONT EVEN KNOW HIS NAME YET!!!!!!!!

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Fifteen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: ANGST... that's about the only major warning I can think of

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Jurian and Vassa took the attic and became scarce, but when night and day slid into one another you still heard her painful screams, muffled as they were by the magic that encased their room. It was a feeling more than anything else. A tension that gripped the House until it seemed to be sobbing. At sunrise and sunset without fail, Vassa’s body broke and rearranged itself, flesh turning to feathers and feathers to flesh. Before it had been a painless process where her body came and went in its various forms, but no longer. Now she felt everything alongside an itch deep within her bones that couldn’t be satiated by food or drink or anything else. 

Go to the lake! Her body screamed. Go to Koschei! And then punished her when she didn’t comply. Like a beast had sunk its claws into her flesh, its waiting mouth only inches away from snapping. To stay away was a slow, agonizing march to death. To move close would be swift, but final, and somehow Vassa knew that if she gave into Koschei’s call, she would be lost forever.

You lingered at the base of the attic's staircase, your bare feet sinking into the soft rug until the sounds of cracking bones finally ceased. Three pairs of feet shuffled above your head and you heard Jurian’s faint whispers like a gentle push of air. When the door opened and Lucien emerged, you saw Vassa crumpled on the floor, now a bone-thin woman with dull, coppery hair and skin ravaged by scratches and pockmarks. 

“Shhhh. It’s ok.” Jurian whispered, encasing her in his arms. 

“I can’t,” her voice trembled. ���It hurts. I-I-I’m burning.” 

“Y/n?” Lucien frowned. The door slammed shut with a bang and you jumped backwards. You clutched a velvet pouch close to your chest and then slowly held it out to Lucien. 

“It’s for Vassa,” you explained, trying to keep your eyes on his mismatched ones — one russet as river stones, one gold like the sun. He opened the bag and stared in confusion at the fine, white powder within, giving it a tentative sniff. “Morphine. Humans use it for pain.” 

“I know of it.” Lucien’s frown deepened. “They get addicted. Take too much and they die.” 

“She’s already addicted. That’s what’s happening isn’t it? Koschei’s drawing his power away to get her to return to the lake and every day that passes she’s dying.” Lucien tightened his fists around the bag, still skeptical. Vassa had endured enough. He didn’t want to have her endure this either. “The bag is enchanted and will never allow her to draw too much. Just enough to calm her hunger. If we’re lucky it might help her sleep too.” 

Lucien stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists from around the gold drawstring, waiting for Vassa’s cries to cease. But they never did. And there you were standing in front of him, unwavering and expectant. There was a glimmer of stubbornness in your gaze. A sign of the hours you’d spent researching Vassa’s condition and acquiring the strange human drug, and your disapproval if Lucien didn’t accept it. 

“Thank you, Y/n,” he whispered, “But please go. Vassa hates for anyone to see her like this. Even Jurian and I.” 

You swallowed thickly and nodded, disappearing down the stairs as quickly as you could. The next morning when the sun rose over the mountains and Vassa changed, you heard only the House’s usual breathings. 

The House buckled under the weight of the Inner Circle’s secrets and the sheer volume of history that had occurred within its walls and between its occupants. It utilized its magic in clever ways — your door opened with a creak that wasn’t there before so that Azriel would always hear your comings and goings. Lucien would suddenly find his door locked and the curtains drawn on the days when Helion made surprise visits to see Y/n. Nyx would find himself ushered around by a broomstick that swatted his ankles when the adults were discussing private matters. It was all a great deal of work. 

So it was a relief when Rhys and Feyre quietly moved their children to the House of Wind with Nesta and Cassian, and when Mor and Emerie took the final steps in emptying their rooms and went to hide out in their city apartment. It was even more of a relief when Helion returned to the Day Court, but not before throwing a heavy threat in Azriel’s face that if he should ever hurt his daughter again in any way, shape, or form, he’d strip the wings off his back. 

Meals at the House were tense, quiet affairs, something not even Feyre, Elain, and Nesta’s sisterly conversations or Cassian’s light-hearted humor could ease. Elain stayed close to Lucien’s side, one hand always on his arm or resting against his back or brushing against his, but that didn’t erase what the Blood Duel had done to his trust in Elain. He was kind, but guarded, especially when Azriel was in the room. But it was more than she could ask for because it was more than she’d ever given him in the beginning. 

You and Azriel were worse off.

You were speaking once more, but your words were always laced with a bit of apprehension and Azriel’s were always filled with sorrowful hope. Conversations were dull, short, and didn’t even begin to brush the surface of all the things you should have been talking about. You were terrified not of the Shadowsinger, but of his opinion of you. Did he want you so he could fix you? So that he could feel needed? So that you could be another one in a list of females he burned through? 

It never truly seemed like that was the case, but you also didn’t trust yourself when it came to your emotions. You had told him once that you couldn’t imagine having a love like Feyre and Rhysand’s, or Nesta and Cassian’s, and you still meant it. You were a matchstick and he was flint, and you didn’t know what would happen to you after he had lit you aflame. For all you knew, you were already burning and this wonderful thing you’d had with Azriel would live and die with nothing more than the memory of an embrace in Rhysand’s office to show for it. 

But oh how you ached to touch him again. To hold him like you had before and to have him return the gesture just as strongly. 

You stiffened when Azriel’s hand brushed your arm, warmth bursting out from the point of contact. 

“I’m sorry.” Azriel whispered, and he was talking about more than the wine he spilled when he reached over the table.

You spared him a glance, the first real look you’d given him in two weeks. The flagon slipped from his hands, and if it weren’t for his shadows catching it an inch above the floor, the room would have been doused in burgundy red. 

“Does Lucien know?” 

Rhysand looked up from his papers. Missives from the Darkbringer army and Illyrian troops up north clogged his desk, all begrudgingly accepting his orders to prepare for what could amount to another lengthy war. Letters thrown back and forth between the seven courts added to the chaos, all of them war-weary and desperate for a path that wouldn’t lead to bloodshed. 

You took up the center of his room and stood so quietly he hadn’t even noticed you until you spoke. It had been eating away at you for days since Lucien’s arrival. Every time you two saw one another or spoke, you tried to scrounge for clues that would reveal whether he knew he was Helion’s son and whether he might suspect you were Helion’s daughter as well. The other members of the Inner Circle had been tight-lipped about that secret, a skill you now knew they all possessed with alarming dexterity. 

“Does Lucien know he’s Helion’s son?”

Rhysand slumped back in his chair, rubbing his temples with one careful hand. Finally he said, “Yes.” 

The answer knocked the breath from your lungs. You’d been expecting the opposite. “Does he… does he know about me?” 

Rhys sighed and shook his head. You didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. 

“How long has he known?” 

“Six years. Feyre was the one to tell him. She was actually the first of us to recognize the similarity, believe it or not. But then, no one ever dared to give weight to the rumors surrounding Helion and Aurelia Vanserra while Beron was alive.”

You rocked back and forth on your feet, breath shaking as it entered your body. “Six years. Six years and you never thought to tell Helion that he has a son? I thought you two were friends?”

Rhysand tensed. “I’m Lucien’s friend as well and he begged us to never speak of it - to live as though we’d never learned that secret. And I keep my secrets. We all do.” 

“You and your family have made that very clear in the time that I’ve been here.” 

“If you mean Azriel—”

“Don’t play dumb, Rhys, you know I’m talking about him.” Tears pricked at your eyes, adding to the humiliation that had coated you like a film ever since you’d seen his memories about Mor, Elain, and Gwyn. “I don’t—” You swallowed thickly, “I can imagine how you must have all been whispering behind my back about Azriel and I. How you must have found it so pathetic the way he charmed me when I was really his fourth choice.”

“That’s not true.” Was what Rhysand was going to say. But he didn’t need to. Azriel said it for him. 

Your face lost all color, any bravado melting away at the feeling of Azriel’s shadows wrapping around your ankles like ribbons of silk. You could feel him in the room and that quiet darkness he carried around with him as inherently as if it were stitched onto his body. 

Azriel was shaking. Shaking. With anger, turmoil, or grief — you couldn’t name it. All you knew is that one moment you were standing in Rhysand’s office, all velvet upholstery and suave, expensive taste, and the next you were in Azriel’s room. 

Everything smelled like mountain air. Maybe it was the gothic windows that stretched into the vaulted ceilings, stained glass opening out onto a personal balcony with deep blue curtains fluttering in the breeze. But you were sure that even with the windows barred it would smell the same. It would smell like Azriel. If you threw open his wardrobe you’d come face to face with a wall of black. Lots and lots of black. Black suits he hardly ever wore. Black fighting leathers. Black leather jackets for everyday. Black trousers. Black boots on the floor. Very practical. Very Azriel. 

If you dug through his dresser drawers you’d find black boxers and socks to match and no shortage of knives and daggers hidden behind wooden planks or in leather sleeves nailed to the bottom of his desk. But at first glance you only saw three weapons in plain view — Truth Teller, blade down and stuck in the wood grain of his desk beside a pile of reports, and two obsidian blades hanging from the wall beside his midnight blue bed in the shape of an “x.” 

The smell — Azriel’s smell — calmed you, at least up to the point where you turned to find him standing less than six inches away, hazel eyes boring into yours. Then your pulse skyrocketed. You were certain that if he only looked down to your heart he’d see it pounding against your chest like a drum skin ready to burst. 

“That’s not true,” he repeated earnestly. “And don’t you dare believe it. Not even for a second.” 

His eyes jumped back and forth between yours and before he could stop himself, his hands were grasping yours in a gentle hold. The leather gloves were soft and supple beneath your fingertips. You wanted to rip them off so you could feel his scarred hands again. 

“You weren’t meant to hear that,” you whispered, suddenly feeling small. That angry humiliation went up in a puff of smoke and left you shy and uncertain. 

Azriel gripped your hands a little tighter and you watched as tendrils of shadow worked their way up your arms and got lost in your hair. “But I did,” he said breathlessly, “And I need you to know that it’s not true.” 

“Azriel—”

“I know—” he was shaking his head, “I know what Helion said and I won’t lie and tell you that I’m perfect or that I’ve made any smart decisions about love in the past — I’ve not make a single one — but… but Y/n you’re not a fourth choice. You’re not something broken that I’m trying to fix or some fantasy I’ve fallen for.”

His hands shook and despite the gloves his hands still felt sticky and wet. Slick with your blood. The burning scent of iron in his nose.

“You’re the most real thing in the world to me. You’re—” You’re my mate. The words crawled up his throat like acid and it just felt wrong. He would say those words to you. He would. But not now. Not like this. He came up with something else. “Y/n, please tell me you believe me. Please.”

And there you were. Falling all over again. Burning like a matchstick on fire. The flames slowly eating away at you bit by bit. You wondered what would happen when you finally hit the ground, or when you ran out of length. Would he still hold you like this? Would you still feel real to him? 

“How am I meant to know, Azriel?” 

You’d always been good at books. You knew the ways in which these stories worked where the themes and plot points had been preordained and written with the purpose of being tied up in a neat package by the final page. People were very different. They were unpredictable and chaotic and they could lie through the skin of their teeth and believe they were telling the truth. And that was the problem wasn’t it? Because you still believed every word that came out of Azriel’s mouth, and his hands still felt like they were keeping you tethered to this earth when sometimes your powers and the memories that came with them made you feel like a whisper on the wind. Weightless and at the mercy of something you couldn’t control. 

“You can trust me. You can know for yourself.” 

He pressed your hand against his cheek and you wanted to cry at the faint pricks of stubble beneath your skin and the sharp curve of his jaw. 

He wanted you to use your power on him. He wanted you to learn all the ways he wanted you. All the ways he loved you.  

But you couldn’t do it. 

Azriel panicked when you remained silent, staring at him and at his hands like you were frightened. All at once he was back on the streets of Velaris, cobblestones shaving away at the skin of his palms as he dragged his way up to you inch by bloody inch, fighting against a body that was too broken to move. 

He couldn’t remember what it felt like when he’d stabbed you through the chest and dropped you on the street. Everything between the moment he saw Andrian’s clear-cut eyes to the moment he saw Rhysand’s horrified gaze was fuzzy and dark. But that made it worse because now in his nightmares he could imagine all the ways he’d hurt you, each version teeming with the same level of horror and possibility as the previous one. 

He let you go and hated himself when you stepped back, your hand slipping away. 

“I won’t… I won’t hurt you again, Y/n. I swear on my life. I’ll-I’ll make a bargain, I don’t care. I would sooner die than let something like that happen again.” 

I don’t know what I’d do with that kind of love. If I’d be able to handle it. It might be too much for me.

“Y/n, please.”

 I am not broken. But I am afraid. 

You fled from his bedroom. 

The air had a bite to it now with winter descending. The snow line on the mountains dipped lower and lower each day, creeping like ivy down a brick wall. 

Elain never wore gloves. Not when she was gardening. It was something she and Ione had in common. She liked the feeling of her strong hands, the callouses on her palms and fingers that she’d earned all on her own. She grunted, slamming her shovel into the soil and feeling the microscopic chips of ice give way when she kicked down on the blade. It was too late in the season to be planting tulip bulbs. If she’d been in Velaris she would have done this four weeks ago. But it was alright with her. She knew the value of hard work, and she had enough hope for the future to believe that even though she was late, she’d have something beautiful to call hers come springtime. 

“It’s time for that conversation I was telling you about,” she said cryptically, as was her way. 

Lucien dropped the final basket beside where Elain now knelt in the dirt, her pale pink dress dirtied and littered with her own handprints. The brown bulbs rolled around like oversized chestnuts, the kind that he’d be roasting over a fire right now if he were still in Autumn Court. Instead he was here, lingering in a Court that had never felt like home. Then again… he’d never felt at home in Autumn, Spring, or the Human Lands either. 

He straightened up and wiped his hands clean on his trousers, golden and russet eyes trailing over the River House’s grounds for this mysterious person he was meant to speak to.

There. 

The faint swishing of black robes behind a dark green topiary tree. He should have known Elain had been talking about you. 

You cracked your knuckles and rehearsed the words you’d scribbled out earlier that day and then set to fire in a maddening loop. You’d been restless with the truth of Lucien’s parentage and you couldn’t believe that the others had held their tongues so readily. As it was, without Azriel’s company to help quiet your mind, you’d dug into this new piece of information like a starving animal and couldn’t let go.

Was this a good time to tell him? Would there ever be a good time to tell him? You had no idea. 

Somewhere in the attic, you knew Vassa was itching to take to the skies like the burning comet she was. Every night she shivered in Jurian’s arms, the morphine barely able to take the edge off the humming in her bones, and every morning she let him lock her away in her cage. It was getting worse and worse trying to keep her from succumbing to Koschei’s influence. Even now you thought you could hear her keen cries whistling from the attic like ten thousand arrows launched into the air. 

Somewhere else, in a secret, hidden place you knew nothing about, Andrian had finally been imprisoned. Andrian with his bent neck and silver, candy-floss hair and bloody little hands. 

You shivered and jumped back five feet when Lucien called your name, kind eyes narrowed in concern. His shirt was loose and open and the sweat on his body rose like mist off his skin. He was his mother’s son first, Helion’s child second, and fire still ran through his veins. The chill did not touch him. 

He tipped his head to the side, red hair spilling out from the messy way he’d tied it up and away from his face. A brutal scar ran through his eye like a fissure, starting at the center of his brow before clawing its way down his jaw like a lightning strike frozen in time. But for all the cruelty he’d been dealt with in life, his eyes were gentle, even the mechanical one that whirred and flashed in the sun. 

They were even kinder when he looked at you. You with your inquisitive gaze and curious nature, like a stray cat that couldn’t help but linger too long at doorways. One foot inside, one foot ready to run and hide. He’d caught you watching him at dinners, and he’d catch himself staring when you walked around the house with a book in your hand, so utterly absorbed that you would bump against doorways and bang your hips against sharp corners. 

“Elain told me about you. Did you know that?” 

You blinked in surprise. “What did she say?”

“Elain… Elain doesn’t always speak clearly. Much of what comes out of her mouth can feel eerie or discomforting. But, she told me before we left for the Night Court that I would be happy I came. That I would never regret the things I learned on my trip.” He tilted his head even further, looking more and more like a fox with each turn of his face. “And she mentioned a bird. A bird with ink-tipped wings and eyes like a crow.” 

You flexed your fingers, well aware that the tips were smudged with ink, the nails bitten down to the quick. 

“Someone clever and cautious who’d been hidden away their whole life and needed to see the sun.” 

You felt stripped bare. That strange vulnerability that comes with being summed up in so few words had you feeling airy. Like one sentence could be enough to carry the weight of the three centuries you’d lived and never buckle. 

“I know you’re Helion’s son. I recognized it the moment I saw you.” 

Lucien stepped back, scarlet brows shooting up into his hair with alarm.

You hesitated, then continued on cautiously. “I recognized it because I would know my father’s face anywhere.” 

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

I KNOW IT'S A CLIFFHANGER ENDING BUT I NEEDED TO BREAK EVERYTHING INTO CHAPTERS SOMEWHERE AND I'M GOING TO TRY AND GET CHAPTER 16 UP BY WEDNESDAY SO I DON'T LEAVE Y'ALL HANGING FOR TOO LONG. HAVE MERCY!!!

The good news is that Chapter 16 is already mostly written, I just need to edit it all to make sure things flow smoothly. Also, LUCIEN KNOWS NOW AHHHHHHHHHHHH

Sorry for the Azriel angst... but it's delicious, no?

[rin-hanarin]

Some salt about Lucanis again, don't mind me, apparently it's my second favorite topic now, right after how much I liked what was there.

Honestly explaining Lucanis's lackluster romance with demisexuality rather than plain and honest underdevelopment makes it even worse, because when does he even develop any sort of connection with Rook on screen if you happen to want to switch the party around sometimes, don't constantly take him with you everywhere and don't use the power of ✨ imagination ✨ to fill the gaps? During one and only coffee scene? Does being demi entail ignoring the person expressing even platonic interest in you, then flirting with someone else in hopes they go away? Do you just go from 0 to 100 when it suddenly clicks that you like someone the way Lucanis seemingly does in his romance, because his relationship with Rook or lack thereof is never mentioned? Does "developing an emotional connection" translates to "You do favours for the person and solve their problems until they cave in and open up to you"? What trauma are we talking about if it's addressed in one (1) quest with a Fade sequence like 30 to 40 hours into the game without being talked about previously?

Just say "We fucked it up and it doesn't have enough content", man.

[petrerpkr]

Jegulus is just a Jeverus in a slightly different font. Marauders fans already push severus' entire personality into regulus nowadays

[yurastarry]

currently thinking about enemies to lovers trope with muzan kibutsuji and immortal human reader who's fought for centuries just because reader has the blue spider lily with them

(i might make a drabble about this..)

[viperbunnies]

Hehe... Yap time.

OK so basically Dranav is a redo of an old oc I had called Cordelia and Cordelia didn't have any trauma so I made the ship angst-welp. Dranav has both trauma and an angsty ship so she is double fucked.

Dranav fell first. Primarily it started off as interest because she is actually great at reading people so seeing the relationship of Jamil with kalim when to her, jamils envy was evident. It kinda developed on from there with how capable he is (all the suitors she meets back home are spoon fed) and how he (still) hadn't Betrayed kalim.

Anyways Dranav wasn't initially vocal about her crush on Jamil but when she noticed his unintentional hints, she figured out he liked her and that's when she started to become the teasing shit she is rn. She literally spares no chance to flirt/tease Jamil (save him pls).

Jamil on the other hand keeps rejecting her and it's not cuz he is a tsundere or anything (he is but that's not the reason lol) it's because Dranav is royalty. Dranav jumps from one thing to another fast as long as it entertains her so 1. He didn't see her crush lasting long and 2. He knew his family would view this as a form of taboo if he went ahead and started dating royalty (which arguably would put him at a higher social status as kalim) so he just goes on denying any feelings for her while she continues to attempt to make him agree to a chance

Now do they get together? I'll leave that unsaid for now <3

(Images above are my live reaction in chronological order, fed but at what cost)

Okay my comments below!

- Not the double doomed recipe for Dranav 😭

- Right off the bat I can sense that Dranav’s gonna be the type to tease Jamil when you said she had a good read on him lol (also many suitors👀) No no let Dranav tease him 🫶

- I love your approach to Jamil’s character, he’s realistic (a terrible recipe for this ansgty ship) Family would definitely stop him if they learn about Dranav hshshs.

hshshsh What do you mean 😟 What you can’t just leave me hanging…

[chocosvt]

what's your favorite trope? :3

SLOWBURN!!!!!!!!!!!! 📢

[sainzinnorris]

do you think carlos and lando would get drunk married in las vegas?? like i feel like it's the most them thing to do i don't even know why.

[shoot-i-messed-up]

One of the hardest things about writing superlantern is figuring out what’s the deal with clois in this universe…they’re literally soulmates….why is clark with hal and not lois….

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

ARIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I HAVE A VERY IMPORTANT QUESTION FOR YOU. HOW DID ARISUGU MEET?🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤 i am now steadily dragging everybody into this selfship playground hehehehhee ilysm<33 - @teddybeartoji

MICKEY!!!!!!!!……. welcome :3 take a seat :33 have some tea :333 🍵🍪 i’ve been Thinking abt this ask. intently. i got Way too into it btw

i think!! arisugu met in high school!! that makes most sense to me :> i transferred into his class and got attached to him …. pretty quickly probably. LMAO. i can see suguru being the one who gets assigned to show me around bc satoru Cannot be trusted w new students and shoko is a delinquent in the making…. so sugu is probably the one i meet first :3 and then i subtly imprint on him. like a duckling. a little ari following him around bc he has a soft silky voice. and he gets a bit of a soft spot eventually (me and the bad bitch i pulled by being socially incompetent <33)

WITH THAT BEING SAID…….. i see arisugu as The slowburn ever. neither of us are the love at first sight type, so i think it’d take a year or two for us to actually Fall in Love…. a year of getting to know each other on a deeper and more vulnerable level (ON THAT NOTE. late-night talks under starry skies are extremely arisugu coded)… so the feelings are very deep but. even though they’re mutual i don’t think we’d get together until a couple years have passed 😭😭 sugu would get tired of the ”chase” eventually and confess in our last year of hs maybe…. but i am Not Ready to accept his feelings. or my own. and i tell him that.

and so … he waits :’3 (WILLINGLY MIGHT I ADD i just think he’s the type of guy to say ”i’ll wait for you.” and Mean it yk….) until i eventually make the final push in like. our early twenties maybe…. which would mean about five total years of pining?? ish??? i just see it as a very tender, very very slow romance!! kinda like wading into deep water when you’re afraid of it. but by the time we get together we already know and trust each other so deeply that the change isn’t really too abrupt….. though he insists on taking everything at our own pace anyway. sniffle. i adore him (ALSO needless to say i’m not following canon here 🤨🤨 i firmly believe sugu wouldn’t have defected if he had a baby duckling following him around ok)

anyway. that’s how i picture it!! :3 i have Thoughts abt the overall dynamic but i think suguru is just… so patient. and so devoted. and i’m very loyal and also Very Shy. yepyep.

now . 😇 you didn’t ask for this but just as a comparison (<- this is a lie i just spent 2 much time thinking abt this)…. arigojo. i fear it’s a coworkers to lovers kinda deal. i’m Very Much picturing blindfolded gojo specifically and bc of his…. ways (crippling fear of intimacy + opening up) this is also another slowburn. and it ends with something a little less straightforward than arisugu bc i do Not think gojo asks me out…. it’s more of a gradual change yk?? bc labels are scary. but one day i don’t let him eat my portion of kikufuku and he goes ”how could you treat your boyfriend like this ;((” and i’m like . oh ok. so that’s what you are. we’re both losers sadly

ANYWAYYY THAT’S ALL i hope you didn’t run out of tea….. have some more just in case 🍵 as you can tell i had too much fun thinking of the Lore + all three of us are emotionally constipated (suguru too he’s just the most functional) but i hope reading it was enjoyable for youuu <33333 i love them. unfortunately.

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Pac gushing over how cute it is that Bagi left Tina a love letter with chocolates and flowers meanwhile Fit is just standing there like 🧍‍♂️ in complete silence, good lord this man is dense as a brick sometimes. Pac thinks all this romantic stuff is cute meanwhile he's paired up with a man who would rather DIE than show an ounce of emotion.

[nomidreams]

god i finally watched new episodes my honest reaction is jgiwoaoKzmxmkwkakkak

[kkaimmri]

i don’t think anything frustrates me more than pining wolfstar. can you guys just stfu and kiss? like it pushes all of my buttons man

especially when it’s dragged out for so long. AND ESPECIALLY when they’re a background ship!! like this ain’t even your story??

and i thought it was just me not liking the whole pining trope thing but NO! it only annoys me when it’s wolfstar!!!

[stebbinsgreyhoundfursuit]

Since the long walk film is coming out this year can somebody tell the edge lords💀 releasing only a sentence of info to say anything other than "OH MY GOD TRUST ME ITS GONNA BE SO GOREY , SO RATED R , SO DARK & SOOO CONTRIVERSAL 🤓☝️..."

Which like COOL, but are you gonna include every single word in the bakers dead uncle debate or a HD 4k image of stebbins absolutey banger outfit cause thats the important stuff 😔

[cheswirls]

early op/dc au fic plot points

in honor of finding my notes finally after five months have passed since writing them and after i just wrote out a huge block of what happens during part one of the fic relying entirely on memory and wit alone, here are some freebie things-that-will-definitely-happen (and just random Things to throw in between) to think over while i'm trying to get back into writing this fic

also tagging @kiteou who created jason/sabo and 100% inspired this verse (please look at their ship art it's all so impeccably goooood)

sabo wears make-up to cover his scar when he goes crime fighting and chooses to hunt criminals in a distant district of gotham to avoid being recognized since he doesn't wear a mask

though he doesn't weak a mask, he does adorn a large tophat with a wide brim and uses the shade to conceal his face from view; when he runs into jason and snarls about a hero not posibly wearing a fucking full-face helmet mask, jason argues back about protecting his identity and accuses sabo of being a hypocrite since his hat also hides his face

jason quotes old literature sabo has never heard of when he's trying to make the most of a situation (so rarely) and sabo scribbles illegible-chicken-scratch words in tattered notebooks when he needs to vent about Life in general (it's maybe his goal at some point to create an autobiography of life in gotham and how much It Sucks, Bad™)

sabo using a metal pipe as his choice weapon reminds jason of damian (he's in his bo staff days) in kind of a fond but wary way - this does not last; at some point the pipe scraping against concrete or brick sets jason off, triggering something in his subconsciousness bad enough to make him lose focus in a fight, and it gets to the point where he tells sabo they can't fight together anymore if he's gonna continue to use the pipe as a weapon

ace and sabo are 19 in the beginning because it takes place in fall, and jason is newly 20 - because of this, sabo is 5'9 and ace 6'0 but sabo wears platform and heeled (the heel is inside so it's not visible) boots when he plays vigilante so he's taller than jason by a couple inches; at some point when ace meets jason he implicates sabo's true height and sabo shouts at him (shut the fuck up, ace!) before ace can finish; even later on, sabo ends up at jason's apartment and when his shoes come off, he stands shorter than jason, much to jason's surprise; sabo admits gruffly that being over six foot makes a person more intimidating, which is his goal at night when facing off with criminals, but also insists that he's still growing (which he is, and eventually he doesn't need the boots to stand at 6'2 properly); even though ace is (barely) taller than sabo (just like he's barely older than sabo), he's still shorter than jason, which rubs him the wrong way (and sets off the comment about sabo's alleged height)

while ace is just trying to survive in gotham, owing nothing to the city that's chewed them both up in childhood and spit them back out again in adolescence, sabo chooses vigilantism in a bid to 'just do what's right, or at least try to'

^ going with this, ace and sabo both have awakened meta-genes that grant them fire powers; ace got his first and is proficient in using his powers - in contrast, sabo develops his after his accident that leaves a portion of his upper body scarred, and refuses to train or even try and control/subdue his powers at all due to his intense fear of fire; this causes daily strife because ace should be able to coach sabo through developing (or at the very least, getting under control) his powers so they don't cause accidents all the time, being the more experienced and honed of the two, but because he's never willing to overstep and always afraid of reigniting sabo's trauma, he never pushes sabo toward what should be the reasonable solution

aaaaaaaa smth smth jason being more experienced in relationships but none of them ever going well, versus sabo who's never been in love and doesn't know how to act, doesn't know how to be vulnerable in front of another person (who's not ace, but even then) or what's considered normal for their relationship status, and eventually having to tell all of this to jason to dispel some worries threatening to make him sick; jason tries his best to insist that sabo doesn't need to act a specific or certain way and that they were going to figure this out together and find what worked for them; in the beginning their "romantic" relationship is super dysfunctional and not much different from their status before when they were just friends, but it slowly becomes more functional when they start to clue in to what they and each other want out of this

i CANNOT find my notes which makes me sick (< actually i did!!! not long after i wrote this which makes me SO mad in hindsight) but in this verse jason runs around with roy harper and artemis crock, who are roughly the same age as him and sabo but have the dynamic they do in earth-16 when they're (sibling) in-laws, meaning, they get along like a tight pair and often will team up to lovingly tease jason whenever the opportunity present itself; when they're introduced to sabo, the initial reaction is them recounting ('oh so this is the boy you're always mentioning') various things jason has said about him and then low-key embarrassing the both of them with their teasing, so it takes a bit for sabo to warm up to them

after sabo is burned by a lighter and his make-up runs, jason believes his old face scars to be part of the fresh injury and rushes sabo to leslie's clinic to get seen; sabo is bandaged up and none of the staff ask questions about the vigilantism that would (tie him w illegal activity) but in the beginning when someone asks sabo a basic question in regards to the injury, sabo clams up; jason has to snap at him that (leslie) was a doctor and not the fucking cops, so would sabo please put an ounce of trust in someone for once and let them take care of him; sabo relents and lets himself be treated

when he arrives home with his eye covered, ace is shocked because sabo never lets anyone but ace bandage him up; ace asks what (the fuck) happened and sabo clams up, flinches back when ace tries to reach for the wrap, and snaps at him to leave it because an actual medical professional treated him for once; ace says smth like 'but you always let me patch you up' and sabo appeases him by saying he can redress the wound later when it needed changing, but right now, he wants it left alone; later ace gets to see the damage and immediately realizes sabo got burned which terrifies him, putting sabo's shying away from him earlier into a new light, and ace takes on a new perspective when he helps sabo tend to the injury in order to frighten sabo as little as possible

sabo lives with ace and rouge until zero year, when their apartment floods and rouge gets sick and eventually dies in the hospital without proper medical care; without rouge, neither of them go back to the house in coventry and instead spend most of the remainder of zero year in a church - despite spending a good portion of their upbringing from that point on around clergymen, sabo refuses to believe in a god that would let him and ace to suffer through life to the extent that they had, and when ace curses 'god damn' or 'oh god' sabo isn't even willing to humor it, always blunting insisting 'there is no god' that ace in turn always counters with 'it's an expression, sabo, it doesn't have to mean anything'

aaaaaaaand since i've been sitting on this intro for a good six months now here's a small actual written pv :)

(if tumblr blurs the ss just click on it and it'll clear up)

[juniperhillpatient]

I hate “love at first sight” or like instant infatuation in most cases but I think it’s a trope that CAN be done super well it just rarely is. there’s nothing exciting or interesting about two hot people who see each other & instantly fall in love all by itself nonsensically like idk I just don’t believe in that & find it dull. but there’s a way to do it where it’s like “YEAH that makes perfect sense” like two people who suffered something brief but absolutely insane together & can never let go of the thought of one another or someone who saw someone else do something crazy or really fucking cool or stupid & can’t let it go or someone totally isolated who’s decided to make the first person they’ve interacted with or who helped free them into this total savior who walks on water like it CAN be such a neat trope you just gotta sell it right.